Four Fifteen
by BriannaCaedmon
Summary: With Magical Britain in shreds the last British wizards and witches travel to Germany, where Harry makes a life for himself as an antiques dealer. Although not happy, he is content- that is until an old possession reacts with a new acquisition transporting him out of his dusty little shop and smack bang into the middle of Headmaster Dippet's living room. TMR/HP. Slash. Time travel.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: if I owned Harry Potter, this wouldn't be fanfiction.

Pairing: HP/TMR

Warnings for this chapter: violence and death

AN: Hello! This is my first fanfic although I've been reading them for years. Please be nice to me :). Over the years a lot of elements of the other fics I've read have become parts of my own imagination so if I steal anything by accident let me know and I'll credit the original author. Fic inspired by, but absolutely nothing like, Silk Roads by GenderlessPerson. This fic will contain slash, time travel, and a lot more that I don't want to spoil.

Special thanks to my boyfriend for beta-ing!

" _Lumos_."

A brilliant ball of light joined the hundred or so others already serving as light in the absence of the moon. You could cut the tension with a _diffindo_. Everyone was waiting, Harry was waiting. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the smoke from a thousand burning trees stinging his lungs. He was, for once, grateful for his poor eyesight- how the others were able to keep their eyes open was a mystery. Probably some spell, maybe he should ask Herm- no, he shook the thought from his mind. He'd worry about it later. For now he had to concentrate. He had to be ready.

The group was sprawled as randomly as the stars themselves on that barren hilltop. There were witches and wizards from all corners of the country- some old, some young but each and every one as brave as Godric himself. They came to fight. To fight for their lives, their magic, and the blackened land upon which they stood. The land which the muggles had burnt, had broken, had-

Harry startled at the sound of voices.

"We've been here an hour, are you _sure_ it's going to be here?"

"Oh shut up Ron, just shut up and listen."

"But no one is coming Herm-"

"Ron."

"I'm telling you" _thwack_ "ow… bloody hell, whad'you do that for?"

"I did it because you-"

"Trouble in paradise, you two?" Harry interjected, feeling some of the tension leaving him. At least he wasn't alone.

"Harry, would you please help me talk some sense into him." He couldn't see them, but he could imagine the dark glare Ron was currently on the receiving end of- along with the bewildered expression on the redhead's face. He loved those two, and always would.

"Just l-" whatever Ron had been about to say was cut off by a gunshot to their left. With a glance at the others he darted towards the action. There was no time to talk now.

Gunshots and explosions mixed with curses and flashes of light. Magic clashed with bullets, the mysterious with the mundane- and through it all Harry moved. Through it all he _danced_.

To say he liked battle would be an understatement. Perhaps he had simply grown accustomed during Voldemort's reign, perhaps some remnant of Tom Riddle's sadism had remained even long after the scar and the horcrux had left him. Or maybe, just maybe, something irreplaceable had broken when Sirius fell through the veil. Honestly the cause didn't matter- the fact remained that, at some point, he had gone from loathing battle to loving it. To loving it so much he'd actually _missed_ it. That's not to say that he wanted this to happen. No one _wanted_ this to happen.

" _Confrigo_ , _bombarda_ , _stupefy_!"

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see who was casting the spells. A bright flash of orange light illuminated the light hair and stern, determined expression of one of his oldest friends. Neville had come a long way. Nodding to him, Harry turned back to the fray.

Minutes, maybe hours went by. Harry didn't know. Countless were dead, on both sides. There was pain in his left arm- he didn't know what it was from, but thank God it wasn't in his wand arm. That would be the death of him. Blood kept trickling into his right eye from who knows where, half blinding him. Still, he was alive and that was good enough for him.

The muggle explosives were long since spent, the only remaining threat the soldiers- and their guns. One by one the group Harry had been engaging grew smaller, their bullets easily blocked by his shields. As the last fell, Harry straightened up to take in his surroundings. The numbers had diminished on both sides, but more so on the muggles'. This was nothing to rejoice at- they were grievously outnumbered. A few metres to his right he could see Neville engaging three or four muggles- the light was too sporadic to be certain- and clearly starting to struggle. To his left Ron and Hermione fought back to back. He ran towards Neville. Soon, he was in earshot.

"Die you damn fucking freak!" a muggle soldier. A… sergeant, maybe? He wasn't brilliant with muggle ranks.

" _Expelliarmus_. _Expulso_!" Neville's reply took down one of the man's companions.

He was answered with gunshots.

Their fight raged on, and Harry ran to take on the other muggle- a woman this time. She was blonde and… a corporal? He didn't really have time to wonder, she already had her gun drawn on him.

Back to back he fought with Neville, their forms pressed ever closer at the muggles' advance. Then, finally, Harry's corporal fell to a _stupefy_.

" _Lacero_! _"_ Neville cried, and Harry snapped his head around just in time to watch the blood red arc fly towards the sergeant- and over his head. Harry expected it to fizzle out soon, Neville wouldn't have put that much power into one spell. But it didn't. It kept going. His breath caught in his throat. It was headed towards-

"Hermione! HERMIONE!" Ron's scream was the last thing he heard before his feet took over and he ran towards the voice.

Crouching down next to Ron he stared. And stared. And stared.

The clouds finally cleared. The stars dwarfed the scene. There, under their ancient light lay a pale figure surrounded by three men. Her chestnut curls surrounded her like a messy halo; her dark eyes were glazed- as though in awe, as though she had been merely stargazing; her pale skin glowed in the starlight like an angel's.

But her chest was still, and her stomach bloody.

The wizards' last brilliant mind was gone.

 _Dear diary 4th of September 1943_

 _The new boy:_

 _Walburga gave me this diary as a "welcome back to school" present. I think she was just trying to make up for cursing my girlfriend- or make me forget that it wasn't an accident. One of the two. Regardless, I may as well use it. So, today has been interesting. Not like a normal first day back- I mean, mostly it was. The Hogwarts express went as normal (if you ignore all the extra security that everywhere has now-a-days, that is) and we sat down and had a feast and the first years were sorted etcetera etcetera. Nothing out of the ordinary there. No, the remarkable thing was what was introduced after the feast- or well, not what. Who._

 _A new sixth year! I had no idea Hogwarts even accepted transfer students that late in one's education. Especially seeing as he went to Durmstrang! Their curriculum is completely different to ours! I mean, I understand that they have to send the children evacuated from the continent somewhere, but still surely private tutors would make more sense? Or something like that at least! This poor boy- Hurtz? Heinrich? Heinrich. I think that's it - will have no idea what on Earth is going on in half his classes! I'm not even sure he speaks English. He didn't speak for the whole walk to the common room._

 _Anyway, I would write more but I really must sleep. I will write again tomorrow. Is that how you say goodbye to a diary? Should I even say goodbye? Oh who cares. Goodnight._

AN: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. Don't worry, Tom will appear soon. This is just a sort of introduction chapter, my fic won't be too slow moving. If you notice any mistakes please let me know and I'll fix them.

Constructive criticism appreciated.

Fic recommendation for today: I've mentioned it once already but Silk Roads by GenderlessPerson. They're currently on hiatus but it's still worth a read. I'm also stealing the idea of leaving a recommendation from them. It's HP/LV, but beyond that I won't say anything, I don't want to spoil it.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I've edited this many times and now I'm tired. It hasn't been beta'd so if you see any mistakes or inconsistencies please tell me (I wouldn't be surprised if there are some given how many times I've changed this).

The battle had raged on for another four hours. Harry and Neville had soon rejoined the fighting, leaving Ron alone by her side. _Her_. He couldn't even use her name.

That old hat had been right. He was a coward.

Not that it mattered now. The sorting hat had burned to the ground with Hogwarts itself, along with magical Britain's greatest treasures. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe, safer than even Gringotts. "Strongest wards in the world"- Bill had told him that. Fat lot of good those wards did when the army bombed the place.

With a flick of his wand the darkness was broken by a dim orange glow. He clearly wasn't going to get any sleep.

Exhausted but with mind racing he pulled himself upright, brushing off the rough woolen blanket, and inspected (albeit with some trouble- the thin mattress upon which he'd lain had done little to alleviate the stiff neck that had been plaguing him for weeks) his little cabin. To his right was a small, roughly carven wooden table on which sat the rusty oil lamp he'd just lit; to his left a tiny window covered by what looks like it might once have been an emerald curtain but know looked more like dark grey rags. In front of him there was only a wall. A boring, wooden wall. It was a good job he'd never cared much for decor- Malfoy was probably having a fit, wherever the sod was.

He swung his legs, filling the cabin with a gentle _thud thud thud_ as they hit the suitcases that were tucked under his bunk.

He probably shouldn't say that. In all fairness, Malfoy had changed since the start of the war. He'd suffered as many losses as any of them. Honestly, Harry was as glad it was over for the ferret and he was that it was over for himself- the guy was alright, really. Though he'd never stop calling him a ferret.

Malfoy had fought as bravely as the rest of them, even if he had lost the will to fight at the end.

After all, so had Harry.

So had everyone.

That was why they were leaving. That was why the entire remaining population of Wizarding Britain was currently aboard _The Selkie_ , destined for- what they hoped would be- a better, more peaceful life on German soil. The German muggles hadn't (yet) declared war on their magical counterparts and so for now the country was a safe haven. He could only hope it stayed that way.

At least all his worries about being refused asylum were for naught. There were so few of them anyway, they'd hardly be much trouble to house. Plus a lot of those on board had connections to German families. There would've been riots if the purebloods of the country had heard their own minister was refusing asylum to their beloved cousins/uncles/sisters/whatever.

Why people cared so much he didn't know. This whole "love" thing was stupid. It made him just want to curse people and, and-

It's happening again.

 _Fuck._

Irritably he bent down and pulled out a worn green backpack. This had happened a few times already, this odd irritableness. This hatred of love. This desire to cause _hurt_. _Accio_ ing the one thing that seemed to be able to help he when he was in these moods, he pondered over the implications of his not doing it this time, not using the one thing that bought back his sanity. He thought about giving in.

But he couldn't.

No matter how much he hated this object, hated what it meant- hated what his _need_ for it meant- he could never give in. He could never let himself think like Him- _be_ like Him. He owed the wizarding world that much.

He thumbed the object in his hands. The thing of _nightmares_ that he could never destroy.

He ran a hand along the folded page that had been its salvation.

Taking out a quill, he began to write.

 _Tom._

 _Harry. How_ _ **lovely**_ _of you to drop by. I would offer you some tea but unfortunately I'm... unable. Perhaps if you were to let me out-_

 _Not happening. I won't be here long._

 _Of course not. Still, far be it from me to be uncourteous to such a_ _ **treasured**_ _guest. Tell me Harry, how are you?_

 _I'm fine._

 _Not at all… irritable?_

 _How did you?_

 _Harry, that is not a sentence._

Was it his imagination, or did the young Dark Lord sound… amused? Bastard.

 _Whatever._

 _Don't think I don't know why you're here, Golden Boy, you wouldn't talk to me if you didn't have to._

Harry didn't bother to respond to that.

 _I wonder when you will finally admit it yourself._

 _Admit what? That I won't talk to you unless it's necessary? The ship's already sailed on that one Riddle._

 _No, Harry. The truth that creeps up on your mind every now and then. The truth that you are trying to hide from by writing in this diary. A curious thing that it's_ _ **my**_ _diary that-_

 _If you mean that muggles are evil or something you're wrong-_

 _Am I?_

 _They're just misguided, or afraid or something!_

Dumbledore would have said that, right?

 _Oh of course. And being afraid of something makes it absolutely fine to start killin-_

He'd had enough.

 _Shut up. Just_ _ **shut up**_ _._

 _Oh, just blocking out my arguments now? How very mature. I can see-_

 _I said shut up._

 _You're the one writing in my diary Harry._

 _I wouldn't be if I didn't have to, and you know that full well. Speaking of which- what is even happening to me? What are you doing to me?_

 _I'm doing nothing._

 _Your Horcrux then._

 _My Horcrux is merely encouraging pre-existing thought patterns._

 _They are_ _ **not**_ _pre-existing!_

 _A Horcrux cannot create entirely new thought patterns-_

 _Your other self then! These thoughts belong to him._

 _My 'other self' as you so eloquently put it is currently far too weak to have any influence whatsoever on your thoughts._

 _You're lying._

 _If it helps you sleep at night._

 _I…_

 _Tell me, Harry, did the German minister grant your request?_

Harry blinked at the sudden change in topic. What was Riddle trying now?

 _Yes. The captain says we'll arrive in three days._

 _Excellent. I wonder, Harry, do you speak any German?_

 _No._

 _I happen to speak excellent German._

 _Wonderful._

 _I could teach you._

 _At what cost? What would you gain from it, Riddle?_

 _Why, the delights of your company of course! And a break from the monotony that is being a diary._

 _I don't trust you._

 _We'll start with greetings._

 _That wasn't a yes._

 _You are arriving in a foreign country in three days. You do not speak any of the language. You can hardly say no._

 _I hate you._

 _Hello can be translated in a number of different ways, the most obvious being hallo._

Five hours later harry finally lifted his head from the diary, massaging the painful crick in the back of his neck. He felt far more relaxed now- and much much less murderous. Ironic that talking to Minimort had that effect on him.

Heh. Minimort. He'd have to use that sometime.

Flicking off his lamp, he layed back down in bed and stared out across his cabin.

Outside the window the sun had begun to rise, sending tiny rays of golden light through the holes in the curtain. The sea that carried them had begun to warm and Harry liked to imagine that the Earth so far beneath them had too; that its core was an icy heart finally beginning to thaw; that Gaia was yet beautiful.

In Germany wizards and witches awoke. Some were excited, ready and raring for the day ahead. Others dreading another day of the same dreary, monotonous work. Some were even distraught, crying over lost loves and loves.

But in that ever less distant land none needed to cry for their blood, none needed to cry for their country.

And in the dim morning light, to bleary eyes, those rays of sunshine looked like goldust.

Harry's eyes closed and he slept at last.

The next two days passed in the same way as the five before them. Wake up, eat, talk, eat, play games, fake a laugh, eat, cry, then sleep. They were a people who hoped for the best, expected the worst, and had learned not to trust their hopes anyway. The atmosphere was subdued.

On the third day everything changed.

"We've seen land! We've seen land!" a woman was shouting hysterically; half laughing, half crying.

"Where? How far?" a man's voice this time, bursting with barely contained enthusiasm.

Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily, irritably. What were all those people shouting abo- oh. Oh!

Land!

He snapped out of bed, and seconds later he was down the corridor and in the shower, his best dress robes just outside, scrubbing himself furiously. He could hardly attempt to make a new life for himself if he looked like he'd just escaped azkaban!

Peering out to check no one was in hearing distance, he began to sing.

Stepping out of the shower refreshed and much much cleaner, he began to turn his attention to his appearance. The only sign he had changed at all since the day he killed the Dark Lord was the assortment scars that littered his body. Battle scars from shrapnel, shells, bullet wounds and who knew what else. The scars seemed to concentrate worryingly around his (far too visible) ribcage, making him appreciate just how lucky he was that magic could heal in seconds injuries that to muggles would be fatal.

He cast some quick glamours- vowing to look into removing them permanently once they were on dry land- and his pallid, marred skin became a smooth flawless alabaster.

He couldn't do anything for his skinniness, so he made a mental note to work on his health. He really should anyway.

Now for his hair.

The dark locks had grown in wartime, and now fell in a mass of unruly curls and waves down to his shoulder blades. A conjured pair of scissors and a few snips later he'd cut it down to a more manageable size- as long as it could be without touching his colour- with a few curly locks left slightly longer at the front to frame his face (and to cover his eyes ever so slightly when he tilted his head just so, he'd always trust a physical barrier against legilimency over any mental one).

Finally, he turned his attention to his eyes. They were sunken and surrounded by dark circles, covered by broken glasses that looked awkward and clumsy and didn't really help matters at all. It was probably time he got new glasses, but for now...

" _Occulus alteramentum!"_

The glasses' thick rims vanished, and their round shape lengthened and thinned into that of a rectangle. He peeled off the cellotape that had been holding them together- his transfiguration was good enough that they seemed as clean and _unworn_ as if he'd bought them only five minutes ago.

A final glamour later and the dark circles were gone, revealing dark emerald eyes that glinted beneath his rimless glasses.

Damn, he looked _good_ , if he did say so himself.

Now, seeing that his vision of a new life _didn't_ include nudism (at least not on his part) he'd probably ought to dress.

First, he pulled on a comfortable black shirt and a matching pair of comfortable, form-fitting trousers. Over the shirt he pulled on a dark Slytherin-green waistcoat, and a matching cloak that fastened at the front with a small silver broach in the shape of the Potter crest. It was a good job he'd gotten over his dislike of all things green shortly after leaving Hogwarts, he mused, the colour really _did_ suit him. He finished the outfit off with a pair of black leather boots.

With one last long look at his reflection, he spun and left the room.

The air was frigid, the breeze biting. The crowd at the harbour payed it no mind, they had warm furs and heating charms and fires waiting for them at home. The sky was grey, the clouds darkening. The crowd payed this no mind either, who could spare a thought for the weather at a time like this? The water was choppy, a ship approaching. The crowd did pay attention to this.

Finally the ship came close enough to see the people onboard; it came close enough for those on the harbour to shout to them.

"Kuisine! Kuisine!" shouted a greying man in mulberry robes.

"Marc! Neffe!" shouted a blond woman in a merigold cloak.

Soon the whole harbour was filled with similar cries as the thousand or so gathered tried to determine whether their relatives were amongst the 239 onboard the ship. The shouts continued, some rejoicing, some becoming desperate, before a sudden loud whistle silenced everyone.

Then the gangplank was lowered.

Pandemonium ensued. Those on the ship rushed off, those at the harbor rushed on. There was laughter and crying and screaming and joy and denial.

A dark haired man fought his way through the crowd, making it to the waiting _Beschützerin_ just as the sun had begun to set. It was going to be a long night.

 _Dear diary 5th September 1943_

 _Timetables:_

 _I got my new timetable today, so I'm going to note it down here. Monday: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Defence. Tuesday: Herbology, Care, Arithmancy, Charms and then a break and then Astronomy. Wednesday: free, double potions followed by double defence (wednesdays will be the death of me. who's idea was that? really?) Thursday: History of Magic, Herbology, Care, Arithmancy, Transfiguration. Friday: trans, charms, History of Magic, Care and Arithmancy._

 _In other news, our Lord called us to a meeting today. Just general start of year stuff. Meetings will be Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at the usual time and place, he expects us all to practice etc. etc. What is slightly worrying though is that he won't accept any of us getting below EE in any of our subjects. I should be okay, I think. I may just need to ask one of my cousins for help in transfiguration but beyond that I should be fine._

 _Oh, and our Lord wants to court the new boy. I guess he thinks Heinrich's experience in the war will be useful to us. Regardless, we all currently have to do what we can to sound him out. Should be interesting._

 _Other than that not much to say. I'd probably better study now, I've seen our Lord when he's… displeased._

AN: thanks for reading :) I'm having real trouble sorting out the right voice/tone for the diary entries :( advice would be appreciated!


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